Established Truth
by PocketxFullxOfxDreams
Summary: Sometimes, lies are better than truth, and sometimes, words need not be used. Slight Haru/Yuki, may be taken as slash if you are so inclined.


This, was written from about 4:30 to 8:00 AM, when I couldn't sleep. I actually dozed off once about 7, then woke back up and continued this. Something that came to me, I'm not even sure how. I started with a vague idea and somehow through the insomnia it came together.

Partially inspired by SkyChasingDreamer, who requested a Haru/Yuki fic. This doesn't count though! I'm planning on writing another one for that.

Anyway, I'm not getting out a chapter of _You Said Who_ before Christmas, obviously, so I hope this is acceptable.

Merry Christmas, I wish you all well, and please enjoy this. Reviews are kind.

Disclaimer: Do I own Fruits Basket, its characters, or make any profit off them? Obviously not.

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The setting sun let streaks across the grounds of Kaibara High, painting everything it touched in softer shades of pink and gold and warmth. Nearly all the students had left; eager to get home from the dreaded establishment, and the few that remained behind were making their way jovially homeward, rarely traveling alone. One particular group is catching his eye at the moment, a girl with impressively curly black hair and a rather cute pout was being teased mercilessly by what was or might as well have been her boyfriend. He tickled her and she shoved and pleaded and squealed and he continued with his torture, a smirk and maybe something just a bit softer on his face. In another group, he watched with a faint bit of amusement as a boy charged his -- what was presumably his long-suffering -- friend, leaping onto his back, garnering a series of shouts and shoves and laughs.

Love, laughter, affection, desire, warmth.

Yuki turns away from the window, and stands behind the wall just outside the reach of the sun's brilliant adieu. Long strokes of orange-pink paint the floor, desks and walls, and Yuki reaches out to touch the color, letting it wrap its self around his hand, coating him; and he is mesmerized.

The room is empty, and there is no sound except for breathing and the beating of a single heart.

His eyes close and he tilts his head back, leaning against the wall for strength. His hand stays in the sunlight, the only part of his being not shrouded in shadow. Then, expected, unwelcome, and irrepressible, images and sounds and noise fill his mind, words and actions and emptiness; emptiness despite the flood of memory, emptiness because there's nothing once it all fades, because it's all so cold.

Yuki's eyes snap open, and he shakes his head and brushes his fingers through his hair, thoroughly disgusted with himself. A person who wishing for change, wishing for difference, yet who instead of seeking or chasing a ray of hope, finds himself staying alone, too much of a coward. Petrified by emptiness and the cold, and utterly terrified to extend his hand, again. And he can't debate the point, he truly is weak.

He's overly dramatic; he decides. A trait that does not suit him and he does not care for, and for a moment he tells himself that saying he posses and is currently exhibiting such a trait means that the situation is not as bad as it appears. He blinks, and the classroom is back, the light is shifting along the wall and the fiery gold is melting into something deeper.

And it truly isn't as bad as all that, after all, he knows he's not alone. Truly, this is not a normal day. He had never, ever imagined such a thing would happen.

Disbelief, guilt, repentance, confusion, dread.

She was quiet. He thinks of her now, and this is the first adjective that comes to mind. She had never followed him around school, or sent him love notes, or anything of the sort. She was quiet, and intelligent. She was cute, and despite or perhaps in favor of her quietness, she had friends. She had liked him; he had no idea. When she came to him, a week ago, blushing and scuffing her shoes on the floor, and twisting her hair, full of nerves, he hadn't expected to hear those words from her, yet having been in the situation so many times he understood it immediately. It hurt, and for once perhaps it wasn't a selfish pain. There were times, when girls asked him to date, that while he was always polite, his true feelings were that of annoyance. How many times had he made it known he didn't date? But this girl was different, he had worked with her, talked with her, and though he truly didn't want a relationship with her, he had liked her. He had begun to know and liked her, and she had possibly, just a little bit, become to know him, and she loved him. And he was sorry.

He is so, so sorry.

He denied her of course, speaking softly and though he didn't wish he were at liberty to say yes, he had wished for this girl more than others that she had never fallen for him. That he didn't have to break her heart, be it with polite words and gentleness. Which was, in retrospect, perhaps the worst way to have your heart broken. She had nodded, and offered him a weak smile, and then left. He rejoined with his group, his _friends,_ the loud-mouthed cat, Arisa-san, Hanajima-san, and Momiji, and Honda-san and Haru.

She was quiet. Intelligent, cute, and had some friends. She had been depressed. He is sorry, and it does no one any good.

She was at school the next day, he would hear later; he hadn't seen her after that day. And she kept coming to school, until yesterday.

He moves his hand in the sunlight, which was returning in renewed force: the last glory of a waning day. Dust motes are floating specks of even brighter flames, twirling and traveling through the light, becoming invisible as they slip into shadows. He blinks, but his eyes aren't wet, they simply burn. It wasn't his fault. It is perhaps narcissistic to think that it is his fault, but had his denial been the last crack for an already breaking girl? There was no way he could have said yes. Was there? He is cursed, and surely any relationship he has would end in heart-break. Never mind physical closeness, there are so many facets to what the curse means and what is wrong with him that he wonders if any relationship _ever_ is even plausible for him.

By lunch, the news had spread throughout the entire school. He had sat, shell-shocked, hoping that by sheer disbelief he could change reality. That in a week, a blushing girl who had said she was in love hadn't become so depressed. That she'd end her life. That maybe, just maybe, yesterday wasn't real, and today was a mistake based on the misconception that yesterday had really happened. When he finally realized that it wouldn't work, he felt physically sick. They knew, Honda-san and her friends and everyone he was sitting with; they remembered. Honda-san and Momiji had told him it wasn't his fault, and so did Honda-san's friends. Kyo had actually left him alone for the most part, and Haru had merely clung onto him quietly as he always did.

He doesn't know anymore. There was no way he could have known, there was nothing he could have done differently. It may have even had nothing to do with him -- but then he remembers how shy and sincere her eyes had been and he thinks he's a fool. It was her choice, and she had friends who hadn't known she was depressed. And her eyes had been a warm brown.

None of it matters, anyway, she's dead. He's not, he's here isolating himself.

Intelligent, good-looking, quiet, popular. None of it matters.

And again, he decides that he's a fool, having a pity-party for himself in an almost dark classroom. Something stirs in the corner of his vision, and his eyes draw themselves away from a world beyond dust motes where answers might lie. Golden light catches softly on silver chains and silver stud earrings, and Yuki watches Haru quietly. Haru is studying Yuki, looking for what Yuki can't possibly imagine, but that's Haru -- always looking for Yuki.

"Hey," the word is spoken causally, and seems completely lost in the stillness of the room, too loud, yet too soft.

"Hey," Yuki croaks out, and wonders briefly how Haru knew where he was, or if he searched for him, and if the latter, for how long.

Haru speaks again, this time his words don't seem as small, and sound better in the room, "Here you are."

Yuki's not sure why, but he is sure there's absolutely no logic to it, but for some reason, his throat burns dry, and his eyes prickle. He turns his head down, and finds the floor interesting, even though it's no longer bathed in sunset. He's looking through the rays of light at the floor, and the floor seems far away and cold. That's about all the observation he gets in before his vision blurs, and he's surprised when Haru is suddenly standing much closer. He looks up, baring his tears to Haru without thinking, and it taken back by the sight of Haru bathed in light. His eyes that are always that warm gray-brown seem so much softer, and the light sparkles off them. He seems brighter, and softer, and close. Haru is studying him again, his expression is soft and Yuki thinks he's never once done anything to deserve someone like Haru.

Yuki tenses when Haru's hand lightly takes hold of his shoulder, the touch is not ungentle or unwelcome; nor even unexpected considering it is coming from Haru, but he's not accustomed to the physical manifestation of affection. To touch. Haru gently guides him into the ever-waning light, and it occurs to Yuki that Haru probably couldn't see him very well when he was standing in the darkness. Yuki is proved right, Haru's eyes widen slightly and he softly brushes a finger against Yuki's cheek, pulling away a teardrop and examining it. He frowns slightly, meeting Yuki's eyes as he says, "You're crying."

It's a simple statement, an obvious statement, and Yuki laughs shakily, "Yeah... I guess I am," he wipes at the tears without much luck, as they're still coming. It is truly unexpected this time when Haru slides his hand off his shoulder and down to the small of his back, and then other behind Yuki's head, pulling him snuggly flush against him. Yuki blinks quickly in rapid succession, startled at the unexpected warmth, and feeling awkward because of the unfamiliarity of it. He and Haru typically do not hug. Whether it be because he's simply not a physically affection person and Haru knows this, or whether it's because the Cursed are uncomfortable with it in general even though they crave it, there's no way of knowing. Awkward, but not uncomfortable, Yuki thinks, and then wonders if his thoughts even make sense. "Um," it's odd, being this close to someone. The way their bodies align, Yuki is blushing, and his blush deepens that this should make him blush, but really, he's just unaccustomed to this, he tells himself. He can feel so much of Haru, even his calm deep breathing, and suddenly a switch is flipped. Yuki finds himself wrapping his own arms around Haru, hesitantly and cautiously, and when holding Haru back makes things better, he leans into Haru more.

Haru sighs quietly, a simple content sigh, and slowly runs his fingers through Yuki's hair, almost as though he's petting him. Yuki blushes heavily at this, tries to find it in himself to be annoyed, and though his mouth is muffled against Haru's neck, he lets out an indignant, "_Haru."  
_  
Haru isn't put off at all, he merely chuckles and continues. Yuki finds himself blinking at more tears, worried now about them running down Haru's neck. "It's OK," Haru speaks so softly that even though they're so close it sounds quiet.

This is somewhat of a lie; they both know this. OK does not mean anything in the past has changed, nor does mean the future will become brighter, and it doesn't say much of anything about the now. And Haru has found it worth saying, and again, he repeats it softly against Yuki's hair, and Yuki is grateful.

The last remaining traces of sunset disappear, and the two are left standing in the dark classroom, gently entwined, and Yuki can't help but think that maybe things might not be so impossible for him after all.


End file.
